


Take Your Heart Out

by Standinginmoonlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-War, Sad Draco Malfoy, Sad Harry Potter, Sexual Content, They love each other, so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6280279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Standinginmoonlight/pseuds/Standinginmoonlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to be around Draco Malfoy, that much is true, but he’s not entirely sure of the reasons why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Your Heart Out

**Author's Note:**

> Gah, I just love to write about these boys hurting together and fixing each other. It's another Post-War hurt/comfort from me but I think you are coming to expect them now. This has a big sex scene which is the first I've written with actual sex, so be kind to me.
> 
> They just really love each other, guys. That's all.  
> Please enjoy!

The first time that he sees Malfoy after the war is in a Muggle pub tucked away in one of Central London’s sprawling streets. He sits alone, his long legs stretched out in front of him at the bar and no-one pays him any attention. He watched Malfoy for a while, hidden in the shadows of the old pub. Malfoy alternates between neat whiskey with no ice and tall glasses of syrupy soft drinks and his head occasionally lolls onto his folded arms on the bar. It strikes Harry that he is following old habits for no reason other than it feels as though it is the only thing he can get right. He watches Malfoy (he has watched Malfoy since they were both eleven years old, with ambition bigger than the world) but Malfoy does nothing.

It hits Harry square in the chest that Malfoy seems as though he is absolutely fine.

His shoulders look so relaxed, free of any burden as he orders another whiskey with an insistent shake of his hand towards the barman. He taps his feet impatiently but Harry just knows that he has all of the time in the world. Malfoy seems to have forgotten about the war altogether – he looks like fluid instead of the tight, balled up mass that sixth year had made him into - and the pang that riddles Harry’s lungs is a distinct mixture of every emotion he doesn’t want to feel. Anger, jealousy, guilt all flood Harry’s vision but, most of all, a crippling sadness grips at him.

He can’t forget the war like Malfoy seems to have done. Harry can’t readjust himself to the lack of Wizarding World resting on his shoulders because almost immediately it has been replaced by a dizzying grief and sorrow that he can’t articulate. His words mean nothing to him, least of all to Ron or Hermione or anyone else who has been stupid enough to chat with Harry since the war has ended. He speaks too often about the physical scars that he bears like they are trophy prizes despite the fact he loathes them with a passion.  
He watches Malfoy propped up at the bar for what feels like hours before he plucks up the courage to speak to him. With one too many vodkas flowing through his blood, he taps on Malfoy’s shoulders and he isn't surprised at the lack of reaction from him. Harry doesn’t know exactly what he expects from speaking to Malfoy but he is sure it can’t be this – Malfoy looks as though he has been stripped of every emotion that he could possibly feel.

“You’re in a Muggle pub,” Harry blurts out. He fears that their moment might pass if he doesn’t say something, _anything_. Malfoy runs his eyes over Harry’s face and lingers on the faded pink of his scar. He nods and Harry can’t put his finger on the feeling in his chest.

“I’m in a Muggle pub,” he says finally. “You’re in a Muggle pub too, aren’t you?”

Harry looks down at himself and suddenly feels eleven years old again, swamped in grief and embarrassment instead of Gryffindor robes. His eyes flick up to Malfoy and he watches as Malfoy bites his lip nervously, drawing the pink flesh between his teeth, something that he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Malfoy do.

He nods again and his gaze never quite meets Harry’s. Taking the nod as approval, Harry slides onto the bar stool next to Malfoy and signals to the bartenders for another drink, two glasses of whatever’s strongest please. He doesn’t taste what he drinks anymore but Harry doesn’t mind as long as it numbs the burning of grief in his chest. They sit in a silence that feels far too comfortable for Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. They sit, thighs pressed together and knees knocking but their mouths stay closed. It’s okay, Harry thinks, he feels some kind of comfort from the silence.

Malfoy shifts next to him and Harry feels the heat radiating from his skin through his trousers. He coughs awkwardly as if he’s trying to see how his words might fit in his mouth. “It’s easier for me too.” This sentence is quiet and simple and is everything that Harry needs to hear in this moment. Since the war has ended, Harry has seen everybody find their natural pairing and they’ve licked each other’s wounds accordingly. Ron and Hermione are his best friends but he has quickly realised that they are no longer a trio but a couple with an awkward straggler who sometimes cries when there’s no milk to make a cup of a tea. Harry doesn’t begrudge a second of it to them – the war had taught him nothing if not to treat love as the most important thing in life – but there is still a loneliness that feels so heavy on Harry’s back.

“What happened to you after…?” Harry begins to ask but he doesn’t need to finish as he sees Malfoy’s body tense at the words. It is a simple question but it feels so heavy to Malfoy because he wants to know exactly the same of Harry but can’t find the courage within to ask.

He pauses, his fingers running nervously along his knuckles. “We went to France for a year. Mother insisted that it was best for us all but Father wasn’t on the same page.” He inhales, his nails digging in to the curves of his knuckles. “He passed away not long after we moved. The stress of failing the most evil wizard in Wizarding history does that to you, I suppose. And now I’m here in this pub, drinking endless glasses of whiskey.” He sips at his glass nonchalantly but Harry can see how his pulses beats quickly underneath the milky skin of his neck. “What about you?”

Harry snaps his eyes away from Malfoy’s neck and swallows nervously. “I was meant to marry Ginny.”

He doesn’t know why he has lead with this information apart from the simple fact that it just feels right to say it. Because it’s true – he was meant to marry Ginny but she had grown weary of waiting for Harry and Harry had grown weary of pretending he wanted her. A large part of Harry was (and still is) glad – Ginny feels like nothing more than a sister to Harry. “I was meant to become an Auror and marry Ginny Weasley but my brain wouldn’t let me do either, so I didn’t. And now I’m in this pub with Draco Malfoy.”

The corners of Malfoy’s lips twitch and something is suddenly unfurling in the depths of Harry’s stomach. “Am I dreadful company then, Potter?”

It sounds as though ‘Potter’ has never fit so well in Draco Malfoy’s mouth.

“Not dreadful company at all. Just the only company that I’ve got at the moment. People don’t want to talk about the war, yet it’s all that I can talk about without going mad,” Harry says quietly and his head is bowed. Malfoy looks at him, dragging his eyes over unruly hair and skin that he knows bears so many scars.

He clicks his tongue. For a brief and terrifying moment, Harry thinks that he has pushed Malfoy too far with his self-pitying. He doesn’t seem the type to suffer fools gladly and Harry’s heart sinks that he may have ruined everything before it has even begun.

“The war only ended a year ago, Potter. It’s okay to feel disorientated, even now,” Malfoy murmurs and Harry is sure that he presses his thigh a little harder into Harry’s. “Merlin knows that I still do.”

The gravity of this situation seems to pull at Harry. His skin feels hypersensitive – he can feel every twitch of Malfoy’s thigh, the brush of his breath against his knuckles and he can still see that pulse in Malfoy’s neck, beating out a rhythm that looks like an S.O.S. Harry realises that his pulse feels exactly the same and perhaps, just perhaps, they are the answer to each other’s S.O.S calls.

Harry swallows and pushes the glass of whiskey away from him. “It’s a big leap, I know,” he says breathlessly and his body is so fraught with emotion that he shivers. “But do you want to come back to mine? Just-just to talk, nothing else, and drink. It’s so easy to talk to you, Merlin knows why. But it’s just so easy and maybe, possibly, you might like talking about the war too if it’s not too painful for you –"

Malfoy stops Harry babbling with a strong hand on his balled fist. He squeezes Harry’s knuckles and it feels like Harry Potter’s hand fits perfectly beneath his own. “I think that would be good,” he says simply.

They stand at the same time and everything they do seems to be in sync. Malfoy runs a hand through his fine blond hair just as Harry does the same to his hair, their fingers nervously scratching at their scalps as they step out of the pub onto the back streets of Central London. It’s dark now and the night wraps itself around them as they walk silently to the nearest Apparition point. Their hands occasionally brush together and Harry finds himself sighing at the blissful sparks the touch sends up his spine. They link arms, silently agreeing to a Side-Along, and Harry swears that he feels Malfoy’s hand squeezing his elbow as they disappear with a crack.

Harry and Malfoy fall into Harry’s living room as if they’ve been doing it for years. They settle into domesticity that frightens Malfoy slightly but only because it feels so comfortable for him to sink into Harry’s couch. He feels more at home in Harry’s cosy little home than he ever has at the Manor, he thinks to himself, and that can’t be a coincidence.

They sip huge mugs of milky tea, the promise of alcohol long forgotten, until the sun rises on the horizon. They talk until their voices are hoarse and their secrets are in the air, hanging as softly as the rising sun and burning just as bright in Harry’s living room. Malfoy – Draco now – cries despite thinking all of his tears had been spent a year ago and Harry listens intently, his breathing shallow and thick and it betrays him to Draco. They lean on one another like crutches and it feels as though Harry will die with the gratitude pumping through his veins.

“Let me be the one to fix you, Harry.” Draco says. The world seems to spin uncontrollably around them but they are stuck to the spot, solid and strong as if they’d been built this way. “Let yourself be fixed.”

Harry’s clock strikes seven a.m. and Draco thinks it may be time to leave. They linger in Harry’s hallway, unspoken words swirling around them, until Harry breaks the silence.

  
“I’m broken, you know.”

Draco looks at him and a breath hitches in his mouth. He leans forward and cups Harry’s face, stroking his thumb on his tear-stained cheek, and he secretly likes the feel of Harry’s stubble in his palm. It is an intensely intimate moment that clutches at their throats and it’s a while before Draco finds his words.

“I know.”

 

&

The second time that Harry sees Draco after the war is in the same Muggle pub in Central London. It is worn down but homely, Harry thinks, as he settles into the armchair that sits by the roaring fire. He orders a pint of lager, sipping at it carefully, and stares into the fire. It flickers and the flames bounce, reflecting off of his glasses, and it feels like he could lose himself if he wanted to.

Harry Potter knows that it has been exactly one month since he tapped Draco Malfoy on the shoulder and he tries not to think that’s the only reason that he’s there. He reasons with himself – he wanted a drink anyway and this pub is one of his favourites – but deep in his stomach, he longs for Malfoy to come stalking through the door.

There is something inside Harry that he can’t explain. He wants to be around Draco Malfoy, that much is true, but he’s not entirely sure of the reasons why. Perhaps it is the way that Draco listens so carefully to Harry when his bitterness and anger about the war spills out into the atmosphere. Maybe it is the way Draco cries with such naked honesty that Harry’s head spins or possibly, it’s the way that Draco’s tongue runs along the rim of his whiskey glass when he’s drinking.

Harry desperately wants Draco Malfoy to be thinking of him, realising that it’s been a month since they last met and he desperately wants him to settle into the armchair opposite him. They would have one drink before Harry would suggest going back to his flat again. It is all planned out in Harry’s head (he’s a creature of habit, if nothing else) and he waits patiently beside the fire.

He waits for what feels like hours before his shoulder is tapped and his heart feels like it’ll burst from his mouth if he speaks.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Draco murmurs in a low voice that sends shockwaves to Harry’s groin. This feeling of delicious déjà vu that clings to him. He sinks into the armchair, just like Harry has planned, and takes a sip from Harry’s pint of lager, staring pointedly into the fire. It has long turned room temperature but Harry can’t think about buying Draco a drink because Draco’s tongue flicks out of his mouth to lick away the foam that sits on his lips.

Harry nods nervously and he can’t help but smile. “I knew you’d come back,” he says and he curses himself for his wavering voice. “You need this as much as I do.”

Draco looks up from the licking flames and stares at Harry, his eyes darkening with something that Harry can’t process. “I do.”

They have one more drink, just like Harry had planned, before Draco stands up to leave and Harry follows him all of the way, silently screaming that this is exactly what he needs. Draco presses himself against Harry and they disappear from the Apparition point with a loud crack.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy fall into Harry’s hallway and suddenly they’re touching more of their bodies together than Harry can cope with. Draco pushes him against the wall and forces a knee between Harry’s legs, applying enough pressure for Harry to choke out a groan. He mutters words that don’t sound like words to Harry because his world is spinning around him and he clutches at the wall with his fingertips.

Draco kisses him with a bruising intensity that it sends sparks up Harry’s arched spine. He kisses back, opening his mouth with a groan, and Draco threads his tongue so carefully with Harry’s. He sucks on Harry’s tongue, leaving his mouth only to drag his teeth down the strong line of Harry’s jaw, pressing open and eager kisses to the raw skin. He pushes his hips against Harry’s and Harry gasps as the feeling that shoots through his groin. Harry is painfully hard and his erection pulses with every kiss from Draco until he just can’t bear it any more.

He pushes himself into Draco, their hips meeting in a delicious pressure that feels like fire between them, and they kiss so intensely that Harry is sure his lips are bleeding by now. He breaks the kiss, only to mouth words against Draco’s lips. “Bedroom,” he gasps against the swollen flesh of Draco’s mouth because Draco has just palmed his cock through his jeans. “Oh God, the bedroom…”

Their mouths meet again as Draco walks Harry backwards, his hands under his shirt and pulling it over his head quickly, as if he’s scared that Harry might change his mind at any second and his hands work at Harry’s jeans. They rest against the doorframe of Harry’s bedroom for a second, grinding their arousal against each other before Harry pushes the handle down and they fall into the bedroom.

“I didn’t realise,” Draco starts to say, nipping at Harry’s jaw as he speaks. “How much I wanted you until now, seeing you like this….oh _Merlin_ …”

If arousal wasn’t pumping through Harry’s veins, he would have blushed. Instead he makes a small noise at the back of his throat that sounds like a groan before he bites down on Draco’s bottom lip, sucking it between his own lips. He pulls Draco’s shirt over his head and presses their chests together and thinks that they fit so perfectly against each other. War has ravaged them both, with scars littered across pale and golden skin, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Harry can’t think about that right now. He mouths at Draco’s neck, the hum of a groan sending vibrations through Draco as he begins to walk them towards the bed again.

Harry unbuttons Draco’s trousers as he nips at his neck, leaving little red marks where everybody can see them, because in his head Draco is already his. “Get these off,” he growls, pulling Draco’s jeans and boxers down in one swoop, and Draco swallows heavily, his mouth suddenly dry and his blood pumping in his ears because he knows what words are going to spill from Harry’s mouth next. “I want you to fuck me.”

Draco stills for a second. He pushes Harry slightly so that he falls backwards onto the bed and Draco is soon straddled across his hips, their erections still pressing together so painfully yet beautifully. He stops grinding his hips for a moment and looks at Harry with such an intensity that Harry feels bare. Leaning forward, pushing their chests together, Draco pushes his knuckles under Harry’s chin to bring his face towards his own and he kisses him so gently, an unspoken insistence that Draco is going to look after Harry because that’s all he ever wants to do.

Their mouths are hot and wet and Harry feels like he could kiss Draco for the rest of his days, tucked away in this bedroom with only Draco’s body for company.

Draco shifts again, moving from Harry’s hips to turn Harry gently onto his stomach. He lies there for a second with his erection pressing painfully into the mattress until he feels Draco’s soft hands pulling him onto his hands and knees, his fingers brushing against Harry’s swollen cock gently. They don’t say a word – the sound of heavy breathing and thudding heartbeats is enough for now – and Draco begins to kiss a line down Harry’s back and he lingers on white scars on golden skin, his tongue tracing them carefully, before he carries on pressing his lips to Harry’s spine. He stops at the dip in Harry’s back and drags a finger from the base of Harry’s spine to the top of his arse, teasing him slightly as he kisses him lightly.

Harry groans. “Please, Draco, do something,” he whines with a thick throat, his voice breathless. “I’m going to come before you’ve even started, fuck…”

Draco laughs and his breath ghosts over the skin of Harry’s hole. “Like this?” Before Harry has the chance to reply, he flattens his tongue against the pink and flushed skin of Harry’s arse and drags it along the muscle. His body sparks at the sound of Harry’s gasps as he presses his tongue further into the hole. He works his tongue over and over again and Harry thinks he might come just from the sensation of a warm and wet mouth on his arse, opening him a little further with every insistent little push. He loses himself, pushing back onto Draco’s mouth and Draco’s hands are on his hips, bruising fingertips on the soft skin.

And suddenly the warm mouth is gone. “Okay?” Draco murmurs so quietly he is almost whispering and Harry feels a pang in his chest at the concern in Draco’s voice. He nods, arching his back to present himself to Draco, a silent indication of what he needs so badly. He thinks that he hears Draco summoning lube but his heart is beating so heavily that he can’t be sure of anything in this moment.

Leaning forwards again, Draco kisses the base of Harry’s spine and holds his hip so gently with one hand as he pushes a finger inside him. The noises that Harry makes are enough to drive Draco insane – it feels like he has been waiting for a lifetime to hear Harry groan at his touch, whimpering as he curls a finger inside him and Draco draws him closer. He pushes another finger in and scissored his fingers carefully and oh Merlin, the noises are just criminal.

He carefully takes his fingers from Harry, slicks himself with the lube and positions himself at his hole, the head of his swollen cock pushing softly at the pink skin. “Are you okay, Harry?”

Harry laughs and it is breathless, Draco notices, and it is all because of Draco Malfoy. “Please,” he says in a broken voice. “Please…”

Draco swallows his sudden nerves and he pushes his hips forwards, his cock sinking into Harry Potter’s arse until his groin is pressed against Harry Potter’s skin, and there is no-one else in the world but them.

He draws back and pauses. The air feels so thick around them and feels so tangible that a wild part of Draco’s brain thinks that he is being wrapped in Harry’s deep moans. They pant together, their thudding heartbeats like a war cry, and Draco thinks he might lose it when Harry pushes back onto his cock, taking all of Draco at once. He cries out and can't help but roll his hips into Harry.

They fall into a perfect rhythm with their skin blending together so seamlessly that it’s hard to tell where Harry ends and Draco begins.

“Did you need this, Potter?” Draco says breathlessly and he pounds into Harry with a strong thrust to prove his point. “Did you need to feel something?”

Harry screws his eyes shut as Draco thrusts into him. The sensation of being filled is like sensory overload for him as he realises that Draco is right – the burn and stretch hurts but this is the first time in so long that he is feeling something other than grief and sorrow. He feels wanted and cared for, even if Draco doesn’t intend for this to be anything other than casual. Harry will think about that later.

Draco’s throat catches with a guttural moan that rips from his lips as Harry rolls his hips and pushes himself back onto his cock. Maybe he needs to feel something too. He’s going to come, he’s going to come so hard into Harry Potter’s body, and the gravity of that makes Draco think that nothing will ever be the same again.

“Come for me, Draco,” Harry groans through bitten lips and he wishes he could see what Draco Malfoy’s face looks like when he’s about to come. Breath ragged, Draco cries out and rests his forehead against Harry’s spine as he comes harder than ever, swearing against Harry’s sweaty skin.

He pulls himself from Harry’s body oh so carefully and presses a thumb to the swollen skin of Harry’s arse, teasing him as he reaches to take his cock into his fist. His thumb drags on the puckered skin and Harry is thrusting into his hand and everything feels so hypersensitive that Draco thinks he might cry. It takes three deep pumps before Harry is coming into his fist, his name spilling from Harry’s lips, and he flips him over to kiss him before he forgets what Harry tastes like.

They collapse onto the bed together, limbs shaking and the air still so tangible around them. Cleaning charms are cast over their soft skin. Harry’s hand finds Draco’s and they lie for a while with heaving chests until their pulse feels like normal again. It feels like hours before either body moves and they fall into that blissfully comfortable silence that they seem to have perfected. They eventually shift to face one another and Draco reaches out to cup Harry’s face in his palm, just like he had done the first time he had stayed at Harry’s flat. His thumb brushes across Harry’s cheek and it feels like he is holding the world in his hands.

Harry looks at him with eyes that have seen painful things and Draco understands. He leans forward, kissing Harry’s scar with a warm mouth. It is Harry who breaks the silence with a wobbly voice.

“I’m a bit lost, you know.”

Draco swallows because truthfully, so is he. He is caught between wanting the world, wanting Harry, for himself but feeling as though he doesn’t deserve it. They had been children during the war, that much was true, and Draco lets a small part of him believe that Harry hadn’t made his own choices either. Harry had been forced into fighting Voldemort, losing so many people along the way and perhaps he wasn’t too different to Draco who had been forced into taking the Mark. He wants to take his heart out and give it to Harry as though he will be able to see how it beats for him.

He runs his thumb over Harry’s lips and they feel so soft that Draco has to kiss him, surely but gently, and he whispers against them.

“I know.”

 

&

The third time that Harry sees Draco after the war is entirely on purpose. It has been another month since they had last seen one another and Harry can’t breathe when he thinks about that night. If he tries really hard, he can still feel the ache of the bruises on his hips left by Draco and they feel so special to him. He remembers how Draco felt pressed against his skin, solid and warm, and he is something tangible to hold on to.

A large part of Harry Potter is frightened beyond words to let Draco Malfoy into his life but he realises with a heavy heart that it’s actually far too late to be frightened of it. Draco Malfoy is in his life. Draco Malfoy _is_ his life. Their conversations were more than the war now – Harry still speaks about it when he is having a particularly awful day and Draco listens as tenderly as he has ever listened – but they are learning more about one another each time they owl each other. Harry has learned silly things like the fact that Draco likes to watch television in his pyjamas and he likes to eat peanut butter from the jar. He has also learned such crippling things about Draco but mostly that he is so incredibly sorry for his actions during the war that Harry aches when he sees the sadness on his face. He wants to kiss away the frown on Draco’s lips and the worried look in his pale eyes because he wants to take such care in looking after Draco.

Because, really, Harry feels as though he is being saved by Draco.

It is a normal Thursday evening when Draco Malfoy Apparates into Harry Potter’s living room. He’s curled up on the sofa with a mug of hot tea and he wears mismatching pyjamas that clash terribly. He frowns, glancing at the clock and wondering who it is Apparating into his home at such a time.

“What on Earth…” Harry begins to say in a worried tone but his arms are suddenly full of Draco Malfoy and he is being kissed within an inch of his life. He is pushed backwards onto the sofa with a desperation that Harry can taste. Draco kisses him so softly yet it feels as though he is pouring himself into Harry’s mouth, his whole life story appearing as goosebumps on Harry’s flesh. He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against Draco’s.

It feels as though the world is in Harry’s eyes and flecks of gold and grey look like fairy lights when he presses the heel of his palm into his eyes. All he can see is blonde and steel and those swollen and beautiful lips that say his name so carefully as if it might break between them.

“I think,” he swallows, frowning slightly as his thumb brushes over the corner of Draco’s mouth. That mouth has kissed him so many times but it still doesn’t feel enough. Harry wants that mouth to kiss him every day. “I think that I need you.”

Draco smiles, a real warm smile that reaches the grey of his eyes, and kisses Harry delicately. “I know that I need you, Harry.” Draco murmurs softly, his eyes flicking to Harry’s scar and back again to his lips. He presses a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Harry Potter. You’re everything, aren’t you?”

In this moment, Harry does feel like everything to Draco. He shifts until Draco is curled into Harry’s chest and he feels like the perfect weight in Harry’s arms. Another comfortable silence washes over them, their chests rising and falling together in perfect harmony.

For so long, Harry has been obsessed with the scars that the war left on his body. His skin is littered with white lines and pink welts that stand so proudly against the golden hue of his tan. Harry can tell you where each one comes from, as if he is a walking storybook, and he finds himself talking about the war solely in how it has scarred him physically. For so long, his friends have attempted to forget about the war in order to heal their emotionally ravaged minds - after all, they too have lost what Harry has lost. The war, Harry decides, has changed everybody that he knows. Each of his friends carry unspeakable scars that hurt Harry’s heart but they are learning to deal with them and move on from the grief and sorrow that the war brought them all. Their skin is marred with white lines too but they have placed the war where it belongs in the past. Harry thinks that, perhaps, it is high time that he does the same.

They are still curled up on the sofa when the clock on Harry’s mantelpiece strikes midnight. He moves from underneath Draco’s body to lead him to the bedroom with nothing but sleep and warm bodies on his mind. Draco whines, his eyes hooded with sleep, and Harry’s heart leaps. They settle again in Harry’s (their) bed in silence but Harry knows that Draco is still awake. He drops a lingering kiss to the top of Draco’s head and he smells like something he can’t put his finger on. It smells like fire and wood and something that is so entirely Draco Malfoy that Harry can’t help but smile.

He draws his lip between his teeth and nibbles on it nervously. The air around them is so still yet it feels as though it is already full of their untold secrets. “I love you, you know.” Harry finally says and his heart is poured onto the sheets.

Draco shifts in the darkness, a wet kiss is pressed to Harry’s collarbone. “I know.”

Harry’s chest tightens. Before he had seen Draco Malfoy in that Muggle pub, tucked away somewhere in the winding streets of Central London, he thought that the war would haunt him forever. Here, in their bed, with Draco’s breathing so steady against his skin, he thinks that he was wrong. He thinks that, perhaps, he wants to replace his stories of his war scars with stories of Draco’s kisses and that feels just right to Harry.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all folks...I would love any feedback!


End file.
